


We Crash And Burn But The World Still Turns

by Piney (Meowth)



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood, Blood and Injury, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Drunkenness, Gen, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Self-Hatred, Stream of Consciousness, Vignette, Whump, honestly probably really OOC, idk what to tag this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-27 13:46:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18195392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meowth/pseuds/Piney
Summary: Oscar isn't sure which thoughts are his own anymore, Ozpin is letting himself be consumed by his guilt, and Qrow is still trying to come to terms with the fact that the man he cares about more than anything has been misleading him all these years.A collection of little scenes and drabbles focused on these three. Cloqwork. Tags and warnings added as necessary.





	1. Crash

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write some RWBY fanfiction for a while but haven't been able to come up with a decent plot for anything of any length. So I figured I'd just collect and post whatever drabbles I produce. Mostly going to be angst because that's just how it be on this bitch of an Earth. I really love these three characters but I also love seeing my favorite characters suffer.
> 
> Will probably contain lots of stuff that conflicts with canon because I'm bad at remembering details and too lazy to look stuff up. First chapter is a bit of an alternate scenario for V6:E12.
> 
> Anyway, all that aside, enjoy! ᕕ( ; w ; )ᕗ

Qrow has been scared plenty of times in his life.

He was scared on his first raiding mission, and again on his first mission with his team back at Beacon. Then he was scared when he realized he’d come to care about them all, and again when he found out that Raven, on the other hand, hadn’t. He was scared when he turned his back on the tribe, and when Raven turned her back on him, and when he tried to comfort Tai, and when he saw how vulnerable Yang was—tiny, and motherless, and looking up at him with those big, innocent eyes. He was so, so scared.

He was scared when Ruby was born, and scared when he held her for the first time—scared that something might happen to her.

(He hastily handed his frail, infant niece back to Summer and hurried out into the hallway to try to get some air.)

And he was scared when Ozpin told him the truth, and when he gave him the power that changed his life—that changed _him._ He was scared when he realized that he _wanted_ that power, that he’d do anything— _anything at all_ —to protect the man in front of him.

…

So when he sees the airship go down, he recognizes the cold, icy feeling that plunges deep into his gut, and realizes that he’s scared. There’s an awful half-second where he feels like he can’t breathe, and a shudder runs through his whole body. He doesn’t think then—doesn’t even so much as say anything to the other kids. He just _moves,_ leaping over the edge of the cliff and catching the wind in his wings, flying quickly, frantically, towards the site of the crash.

_No,_ he thinks to himself desperately. _No, no, no, no, no, no--!!_

_Please, gods—_ gods he doesn’t want to believe in. _Please not again!_

But he knows the gods have forsaken Remnant, and even if they hadn’t, they’d never bother to answer his prayers anyway. So it’s stupid, really. All of this is _stupid._ He shouldn’t even be here, he thinks, as he hurtles through the treetops, branches whipping against ruffled wings. Him being here was an awful idea from the start, and it was probably _his fault_ that the ship crashed, that it was clipped by the beam in just the right way to send it spiraling out of control.

Why is he even _here?_ Why did Ozpin ever even say he _needed_ him in the first place?

He never needed him.

_“Meeting you was the worst luck of my life.”_

But as the wreckage comes into view and Qrow stumbles to land on two feet, he knows that isn’t true.

The front of the ship is badly dented, and the windshield spiderwebbed with cracks. There’s smoke rolling into the sky and Qrow can only hope

“Ruby!” he calls, voice cracking slightly with panic unbecoming of him. He can’t help it, though—how could he _help_ it? This is his _niece_ he’s talking about, one of the only _good_ things in his life, and he doesn’t know what he’d do if he lost her when he’s already lost so many. Summer, Amber, Pyrrha… There’s so much blood on his hands, and they were just _kids,_ dammit—what was he _thinking,_ bringing them all here, letting them all put themselves in danger like this, telling them the truth instead of telling them to enjoy what little childhood they had left?

_“Ruby!”_

He has to be the worst uncle in all of Remnant, he thinks to himself. And he’s so _scared._

Ruby is fine though, somehow, miraculously. She stumbles out of the ship and falls for her knees for a moment—choking, trying to breathe—but she’s fine. Qrow knows he should have more faith in her, because she always is. Nonetheless, he runs to her side and kneels, but he can hardly get a word out before she’s shaking her head and pushing him away.

“I’m okay,” she says, heaving, and looks over her shoulder back into the cockpit. “Help _them.”_

It’s so very like her, and Qrow doesn’t want to obey. He wants to stamp his foot down like a child and say _no,_ but he knows he can’t do that—Ruby isn’t the only kid who’s been dragged into this. So he bites his lip and reluctantly agrees, darting inside the smoking ship. It’s then that it dawns on him that it’s not just the kid and Maria he’s trying to save here—that Oz is in there too even if he’s locked himself away, and no matter how mad Qrow is at the old man, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle it if he loses him _again._

His sees Maria first—she’s conscious, he notes with a drop of relief, groaning as she tries to sit up and knock her eyes back into working order. Then his eyes dart to the copilot’s seat though, and he feels the blood drain from his face.

_Oz,_ he thinks.

“Oscar,” he says.

The kid is slumped over the panel at the front of the plane, head turned away from Qrow so that at first all he can see is the blood smeared messily over the controls. He isn’t moving—for a second, Qrow doesn’t even think he’s _breathing,_ and Qrow feels like he can’t either as he hurries to his side. His hands hover nervously over the former farmhand’s head, his back, his neck, praying nothing’s broken, that he isn’t as hurt as he looks, that _dear gods, please, he has to be okay—_

“Kid!” He finally musters the courage to feel those delicate bones and then breathes a sigh of relief. They aren’t broken—at least not as far as he can tell. “Kid, come on…” Very gently, he ventures to pull the boy back from the control panel, sitting back as Oscar’s head rolls limply against his shoulder. It’s then that he sees the source of the blood; it’s flowing freely from the kid’s nose, running in fat streams over his mouth and staining the front of his brand-new jacket. Now _that_ is definitely broken, but a broken nose is better than a broken neck, and Qrow can tell now that the young vessel is only unconscious, breaths whistling from between bloodied lips.

“Fuck,” Qrow says quietly, and slumps for a moment, trying to get his breathing under control. “You _scared_ me, kid…” Not that he isn’t still scared, because there could be more injuries unseen underneath the other’s coat, but the fact that he’s alive is enough to ease the pressure building in his chest. Oscar—and Ozpin—are alive.

_Which means Qrow might still have the chance to rectify things—to apologize for those words, at least._

(He’s scared—what if Ozpin never forgives him?)

“What’s going on?” Maria’s voice makes Qrow jump. He turns to see her hobbling from her chair, blessedly unharmed save for the sparks still jumping from her mechanical eyes. “Is Oscar all right?” She moves blindly towards them, and Qrow reaches out a hand to comfort her, resting it on her shoulder.

“He’s alive,” he mutters. “But he took a nasty hit. Nose is probably broken.”

“Oh, dear…”

“Come on.” Qrow pulls his hand back and adjusts Oscar in his arms before standing, hefting the young boy against his chest. “His cane is right in front of you,” he tells Maria. “Grab it, will you? We need to get out of here.

Used to operating in the dark—or perhaps her eyes are beginning to function again, Qrow isn’t sure—Maria complies, clutching the cane Ozpin valued so much and following as Qrow jumps out of the airship. Ruby is there and back on her feet, though she looks about ready to jump back into the fray as Cordovin’s mech draws closer to the cliff. The sight of Oscar covered in blood makes her freeze, eyes widening in dismay.

“Is he…?” Her voice falters; she can’t put it into words.

Qrow shakes his head so she doesn’t have to. “He’s just unconscious,” he assures her, laying the kid on the grass, trying to sound more confident than he feels. Blood is still simply _gushing_ from his nose and Qrow doesn’t know how much more he can afford to lose. “But he needs Jaune, or he’s going to be in a hell of a lot of pain when he wakes up.” He pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and holds it tight against Oscar’s nostrils in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

Ruby seems torn between staying with her friend or returning to the fight, but then there’s the sound of gunfire and Cordovin shouting obscenities at them. The other kids have reengaged her, and Qrow knows she won’t be able to ignore that. Her conscience wouldn’t let her.

He also recognizes the look in her eyes then—the tell that she’s about to do something very, very reckless. And when she grits her teeth and turns away from him, Qrow can’t help but stand and rush towards her, reaching for her hand. “Ruby,” he says—pleads, perhaps. “Don’t.”

_Don’t go back out there._

_Don’t do something that could get you killed._

_Don’t_ scare _me like this anymore._

_Please…_

There’s a heavy moment of silence as Ruby pauses, turning slowly to look at him. Every fiber of Qrow’s being is screaming at him, _no,_ screaming to not let her go, to hold her back, because she’s only a _kid,_ she doesn’t know what she’s doing—not _really—_ and he can’t afford to let her get _hurt,_ doesn’t know what he’d do if he lost her, too. He’s the _adult_ here. _He_ should be the one risking his life—not _her_ —and while Ruby is brilliant, and talented, and has already been through so much, she’s still young, and whatever she’s planning, it’s not—

Ruby’s voice, cold and calm, stops his thoughts in their tracks. “I need you to trust me,” she says.

Qrow’s eyes widen. _It’s true,_ he thinks. She does. And she deserves it, too. If Qrow can do nothing else for her, he at least needs to trust her. And it’s not that he _doesn’t—_ not really—it’s just that he’s scared. Scared for her, and for himself—scared of something happening to her, and of having to sit there and comfort Taiyang again. He’s terrified.

But the difference between him and his sister, he tells himself, is that even when he’s scared, he won’t run away.

He swallows thickly, and bows his head, and loosens his grip on that hand that’s far too small for a fight this big.

Ruby pulls away and he doesn’t follow.

“Take care of Oscar,” she says.


	2. Guilt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the idea of Oscar finding Qrow passed out on the steps in V6:E9, instead of the rest of the crew.
> 
> Enjoy! ᕕ( ; w ; )ᕗ

In the short time he’s known him, Oscar has already seen Qrow drunk more times than he can count. It was obvious to him from the moment they first met in that dingy, backwater bar that the man was an alcoholic. But the people around him—people who’ve known him for far longer than Oscar has—never said anything about it, and so, Oscar didn’t either. It hardly seemed his place.

But at this point, he’d like to think he knows the old crow at least a little bit—enough to say, at least, that him being passed out on the steps of the Arc household in Argus is… worse than usual.

Oscar sighs, standing over the man and rubbing nervously at the strapped cuffs of his brand-new combat suit. His cheek still aches slightly where Qrow punched him a couple days ago. No, not him, Oscar thinks—tries to convince himself. He punched _Ozpin,_ but then, did that even really matter? Weren’t they basically one and the same?

He wonders if Qrow really thinks so.

_“Don’t lie to him, Ruby. We’re better than that.”_

He wonders if Qrow feels bad about saying that—if he realizes how big of an impact it had on Oscar. Well, he likely doesn’t feel much of _anything,_ at the moment.

 _I’d encourage you to withhold your judgment,_ Ozpin told him once, as he watched Qrow knock back drink after drink on that first night. _Until you see what this man is really like._

Is this what he’s really like? Oscar asks the wizard this in the darkness of his mind, but the headmaster doesn’t even give him so much as a hum in response. Sighing again, Oscar kneels and places a hand on Qrow’s shoulder, trying to shake the man awake. “Come on, old man,” he says. “Let’s get you inside already.”

Qrow groans, and rolls his head against the concrete steps. Oscar thinks he sees his eyelids flutter, but he can’t be entirely sure. All he’s sure of is that the man is simply _shitfaced,_ and he’ll be no help in lugging his limp—entirely defenseless, vulnerable, extremely _irresponsible_ —body into the townhouse in front of them. Oscar clicks his tongue and bows his head for a moment, taking a breath to try to summon some patience before shifting to pull one of Qrow’s wiry arms over his shoulders.

“Come _on,”_ he says, with more force this time. He’s not really sure if he’s mad or even irritated with the mess of a huntsman, or if he just feels bad for him at this point. Oscar’s not entirely clear on the history between Qrow and Ozpin, but he knows from the way the wizard spoke of him—and the snapshots of memories he caught a glimpse of when their minds were melding together—that it was… intimate.

They were close. Close enough that when they were around each other, Ozpin couldn’t help but emanate a fondness different from that he felt towards his students. And close enough that when he felt like Qrow didn’t want him around anymore, Ozpin disappeared.

And the stubborn old man _still_ wouldn’t come out of hiding.

“Come _on,_ dammit!”

Qrow groans again, swaying and boneless as Oscar strains to pull him to his feet. The smell of alcohol on his breath is so strong the farm boy wrinkles his nose, reflexively. Before meeting Qrow, it’d been years since he smelled that sickly sweet scent… Now Oscar feels like he smells it far too often. His memories involving alcohol are hazy, at best; his aunt never drank, after all. Another trait of hers that Oscar had appreciated. 

Qrow is lighter than Oscar expected, but even thin and gangly as he is, he’s still a full-grown huntsman with a decent amount of muscle. Oscar calls out to the others in hopes they’ll let him in; “Hello?!” But no one answers. He has to adjust his grip on the taller man to try to knock on the door with one hand. Qrow folds over limply over his shoulders. “Guys?” Still nothing. Oscar furrows his brow. Where could they have gone?

Thankfully, the door is unlocked. It takes a bit of maneuvering, and several muttered curses on Oscar’s part—(He never would’ve spoken this way in front of his aunt, he thinks, and wonders if that indicates growth or something else.)—but finally, he manages to get the both of them in and out of the cold. Then he dumps Qrow on the couch with all the ceremony the drunkard deserves and leans back, running a hand through his hair.

“Great,” he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose and giving the man a flat, exhausted look. “What am I supposed to do with you…?” He isn’t sure who he’s asking, or _why,_ for that matter, he thinks he has to do _anything_ with the disaster of a man in front of him. But the words come so easily, as if he’s said them a thousand times. Oscar runs a hand over his face. “Gods, I’m even starting to sound like him…”

“Oz…”

The name is so quiet—so soft and slurred—that for a moment, Oscar isn’t even sure if he heard it at all. But then a second awareness uncurls next to his own, tired and cautious as he looks at Qrow’s twisted face. The huntsman is sweating slightly, his features drawn in a distressed look as he rolls his head against the couch cushions. Not the oblivion most people seek in alcohol, it would seem.

… Is he dreaming? Oscar ventures.

But Ozpin doesn’t answer.

Still, Oscar feels for the first time since that snowy wood as if he’s there, as if the door he locked himself behind has cracked open the slightest bit. He can feel that the wizard is in pain—the dull ache of betrayal, and the self-loathing Ozpin always tried to hide. But as he looks down at Qrow trying—and obviously _failing—_ to drown his despair in alcohol, Oscar feels concern emanating from the other as well.

“Oz,” Qrow mumbles again, turning his face into the pillow so his voice is barely audible. “Oz, why…?”

The question makes Ozpin recoil slightly, guilt rolling off him in waves.

“Oz… ’M sorry…”

Oscar feels a surge of emotion that he recognizes as not his own. It crashes over him suddenly, catching him off guard, and Oscar has to try very hard then not to let it consume him entirely. He opens his mouth once, twice, but no sound comes out. He can’t tear his eyes away from where Qrow is tossing and turning in his sleep.

 _I’m sorry,_ he thinks—Ozpin thinks. _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…_

No, this isn’t what he’s thinking. He’s not… The apology isn’t only directed towards Qrow; it’s directed towards him as well.

_There’s so much Ozpin has to apologize for, so many people he wants to apologize to._

Oscar takes a shaky breath and stumbles back into the chair adjacent to the couch, rubbing a hand over his face. His eyes go back to Qrow automatically— _I’m sorry_ —and he tries to fight back a sudden, powerful urge to cry. _I’m sorry._ Stop, he thinks. Stop apologizing. He can’t take it anymore—being caught in the middle where he’s both injurer and injured party. And Oscar has his own guilt, and his own wrongdoings, and he _regrets_ it—he really does. Holding Oz back and telling Ruby to summon Jinn… He was so sure that he was doing the right thing at the time, but then he _felt_ it when Ozpin was forced to relive it all—felt the way he was _violated_ and _betrayed._

I didn’t mean to hurt you like this.  
_I didn’t mean to hurt anyone like this._

He felt the surge of guilt then, and he feels the surge of tears in his eyes now. Because try as he might to convince himself otherwise, Ozpin is only human, and he never knew what the _right_ thing to do was, only knew that he had to try to do _something._ And he regrets it. He has so many regrets.

“I’m sorry,” Oscar says, voice muffled slightly against the palm of his hand and thick with emotion. “I really am.” He’s not sure if it’s really him talking, or even who he’s talking to. Finally managing to tear his eyes away from Qrow, he leans over and rests his elbows on his knees. He closes his eyes, but it doesn’t stop the tears from escaping, tiny droplets hitting the carpet below.

Desperately, maybe, he reaches for Ozpin in the darkness, seeking answers. But the wizard pulls away, and then takes his emotions with him—the pain, the hurt, the guilt. He takes them and retreats behind that door he’s able to lock so tightly to nurse them quietly, by himself. Oscar wishes that he could do the same.

He stays there with his elbows on his knees for a long while as the storm of feelings inside him dies down little by little, biting his lip, trying to get those _damn_ tears to stop falling. Finally, he leans back in the chair, casting his eyes up towards the ceiling and taking a deep, shaky breath.

He has his own regrets, he thinks. Maybe not as many as Ozpin, but he has them nonetheless. But that’s not what he needs to focus on right now.

He needs to focus on what he _can_ do, with whatever time he has left.

Rubbing his eyes dry, Oscar rises, and with one last soft, silent look at Qrow, he heads into the kitchen.


	3. Wanting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two kind of unrelated vignettes--a bit of pre-series Cloqwork. Trying to get a feel for writing Ozpin, which is quite difficult I have to say.
> 
> This turned into a bit of stream-of-consciousness... and is kind of a mess, so sorry if it doesn't make sense. > >
> 
> But I hope you'll enjoy nonetheless! ᕕ( ; w ; )ᕗ

Ozpin has just stepped off the elevator that leads to his office when a familiar voice floats to him through the darkness and a familiar silhouette shifts languidly from where it was leaning against the window.

“That was quite the speech you gave earlier,” Qrow says, a hint of teasing in his voice. It’s a tone Ozpin knows, but one he doesn’t hear often; only from the old crow, really, when they’re alone and can afford to breathe, to talk for a moment as if everything is normal. And it makes him smile, taking a sip from his mug as he makes his way leisurely over to his desk.

“I meant every word of it,” he assures him, setting his cup down and brushing his hand over the papers that litter the smooth surface. There are dozens of them; applications, and schedules, and reports from Ironwood and the others—all things he needs to review and sign. He braces himself on the desk for a moment and breathes, suddenly feeling very tired.

Qrow laughs at him—a soft, throaty chuckle. “Oh, I’m sure you did. You always do, right?” He straightens and comes over into the light, leaning on the desk in a fashion that mirrors Ozpins and looking at him with those sharp, blood-red eyes of his. “I seem to recall you giving a similar speech back when I was a freshman. Word-for-word, actually. You really never change, do you Oz?”

Ozpin tilts his head, smile widening into a bit of a smirk. He’s aware of the close in the space between them, and the look in the other’s eyes—the fragile hope for a shared affection that they both know they can’t really have. “Well, there’s no need to fix what isn’t broken, is there?” he says. “I think it holds up pretty well, don’t you?”

A hum, and Qrow inching a little closer, his hand crawling towards Ozpin’s on the desk top. Daring. “Hm. Yeah, pretty well,” he concedes, and then sighs a little, and lets his features slip into something more genuine, a look of relief—to just be here, with him. Ozpin lets him approach, even though there’s a tugging feeling in his heart, warning him to keep his distance, lest he get swept away. He has things to do, the feeling tells him, and obligations to keep. To people other than the man in front of him.

But Ozpin wants to ignore that feeling, if only for a moment.

Against his better judgment, he lets Qrow’s hand find his in the dim lamplight, long, thin fingers intertwining with his own.

“It’s good to see you, Oz…” Qrow’s voice is soft in a way that’s unbecoming of him, and that Ozpin knows is reserved only for him. The headmaster presses his lips together, gaze flickering searchingly over the other’s face for a moment. Searching for what, exactly, he isn’t sure. An out, perhaps. Something to make him want to pull away.

But of course, there’s nothing like that there—there never is. Ozpin doesn’t want to pull away, so he sighs, and leans in a little bit, pressing a chaste kiss against the other’s lips, a concession. “Yes,” he murmurs, and squeezes Qrow’s hand, hoping his apology can be felt through the warmth of his fingertips. “It’s good to see you too.” He wants to do more then. There’s a tight feeling in his chest—a yearning that aches like an old wound, threatening to reopen. And it’s been such a long time that he just wants to give in. He wants to _want._

But he can’t. He’s not allowed to—not right now, and not like this. So he tears himself away before Qrow can say or do anything else, walking around to his chair on the opposite side of the desk and sitting, straight-backed with his hands folded neatly in front of him. Expectant. “So,” he says, as Qrow straightens and gives him that look of understanding that Ozpin hates so much. “What do you have to report?”

…

It’s on a rather cold night in December, in a cozy little bar on a back street in Vale, that Ozpin realizes he’s made another mistake to add to his long, long list of regrets.

That mistake is being attracted to a crow; a tired crow who’s already started to show signs of exhaustion, and of despair. A crow he’s known for many years to be a skilled huntsman and popular flirt, but who’s now slumped with his head in his hands beside him, drunk and on the brink of tears. Ozpin has never seen Qrow like this. He’s seen Qrow as a student, and as a warrior—high on victory and nursing defeat. And he’s seen Qrow express self-doubt plenty of times before, and comforted him some of those times, assuring him that his semblance—that _he_ —wasn’t a mistake.

But he’s never seen him quite like _this_ before, so he isn’t exactly sure how to proceed. “They don’t want me,” Qrow is saying. “No one wants me. And who can blame them? Hell, I wouldn’t want me, either. I don’t want to be here, don’t want to exist anymore—it would be better if I just disappeared…” He’s rambling, and slurring his words slightly, but Ozpin listens intently to every one of them, filing them away as important things he needs to take to heart. He’s not entirely sure what brought this on, can’t recall anything in particular that the man was upset about when he called Ozpin out of the blue to go drinking with him, ‘for old times’ sake.’ Ozpin isn’t normally one for these sorts of social activities—hardly has the time. But he’d been wanting to speak to the Branwen twins about something important anyway, so figured a bit of traditional bonding would help set the stage.

And he’d also just… wanted to go. As a lonely old man who hardly had any time to unwind.

He could allow himself that much at least. Right?

But what he wants now, he thinks, as he watches Qrow break down and feels his stomach twist itself into knots, is perhaps a little too much to ask for. He wants to reach out to the other, to run his fingers through that disheveled jet-black hair. He wants to brush his hand against the other’s cheek and guide his jaw up gently to force the other to look at him, to close the distance between them and lend him a bit of his warmth, to comfort him. And he wants very badly to let Qrow know that everything he’s saying is wrong, that he’s worth so much more than he thinks he is, that he’s a brave and honorable young man and that just because he was dealt an unfortunate hand by fate, that doesn’t mean he should give up entirely—that he’s better than that.

There’s something in Qrow, Ozpin thinks, that he _wants._ But on this cold night in December in a cozy little bar on a back street in Vale, Ozpin isn’t quite sure what that is yet.

So he stays quiet, and takes a sip of his drink, relishes the way it burns down his throat, reminding him that he’s still human as Qrow bares his heart to him, volatile and vulnerable.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! ᕕ( ; w ; )ᕗ


End file.
